


Mixology of Metaphors

by Syrena_of_the_lake



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3941554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/pseuds/Syrena_of_the_lake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an unprecedented feat of coordination, Lucas simultaneously puts his foot in his mouth and hits the nail on the head. Metaphors are mixed, drinks are drunk, and there are many, many interruptions. Mostly dialogue, and mostly silliness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mixology of Metaphors

"Doc, I think you're in serious danger of being friend-zoned." Lucas shook his head mournfully. Beer sloshed over the brim of his glass.

Henry paused, ran the words through his admittedly Macallan-sozzled mind, and came up empty. "I'm afraid I don't understand. Do you mean gerrymandering? I read a fascinating article recently about prison populations upstate–"

"No," interrupted Lucas.

"The prisons weren't upstate? I could have sworn…"

"No, I mean yes, I'm sure you're right about the prisons, doc, but that's not what I meant." Lucas ran a hand through his hair. "It's more like, uh, taxonomy."

Henry propped his chin on his fist, but it kept sliding forward. His fist, that is, or rather his elbow, to be exact – "Er, yes. Go on."

Emboldened, Lucas leaned forward conspiratorially. "Let's say J– I mean, a female, uh, cat–"

"House cat?"

"No, definitely a big cat."

"How big? On the order of ocelot?"

 _Ocelot_? Lucas had been thinking lioness. _Who_ _the hell comes up with ocelot?_

"Jaguar?" continued Henry, apparently geographically. "Lynx, cougar…"

"No!" blurted Lucas. "Definitely not a cougar." He had to think fast – the metaphors were rapidly spiraling out of control. "Let's say tiger," Lucas jumped in before Henry could offer any more suggestions. "A tigress seeks her mate among other tigers, right? She'd never go for a lion–"

Henry, warming to the topic, nearly knocked over an empty beer glass as he waved his hand. "Not necessarily, Lucas! Although exceedingly rare in the wild, there have been instances of cross-breeding –"

"No no no," Lucas broke in, "forget the liger! Forget I said lion. Pretend I said a dog."

"Well, dogs will mate with anything," allowed Henry. Lucas choked. "Have you never seen a dog hump your furniture? Or your leg?"

Lucas's brain stuttered to a halt at the colloquial expression alone – never mind the subject matter. "Uh…"

Henry made a valiant attempt to refocus his eyes and thoughts. "I'm sorry, Lucas, you were saying about the tiger…?"

"Yes!" Lucas grasped at the words like a lifeline. "The tiger won't mate with someone she thinks is a dog. She'll go looking for another tiger. Once she thinks you're a dog, it's all over," he said, nodding earnestly. "Q.E.D."

Henry stared at him. "I'm afraid I don't understand what any of this has to do with district-based politics," he apologized into the silence.

"It doesn't!" cried Lucas. "It's about Jo! She's the tiger, you're the ocelot or dog or whatever – only you're _really_ a tiger, like a wolf in sheep's clothing, but she doesn't know it! She's starting to think you're a… you're… uh…" Lucas paused to marshal his final argument.

"A dog or ocelot or whatever," supplied Henry.

"Right! And once she thinks you're not a tiger, you'll be gerrymandered right out of the running." Triumphantly, he thumped his beer on the table and tipped his chair back on two legs. Who'd ever have thought it? Lucas Wahl giving romantic advice to Dr. Henry Morgan, he of the British Accent and artfully draped scarves!

"What's he talking about?" asked Jo from right behind him. Lucas's chair slammed to the floor and he coughed into his beer glass.

"No idea," said Henry with a grin. "Only he said that you think I'm a dog who can't get into your zone… or something to that effect. I got a little lost on the details, I'm afraid."

Jo laughed as she set the next round on the table. "You are a dog, Henry. And for the record, Lucas – I prefer leopards."

A sly grin stole over Henry's face. "I bet you look lovely in leopard print."

Jo chuckled low in her throat. "You have no idea."

Slack-jawed, Lucas revised his initial estimation. Maybe Henry didn't need any help in that department after all. But hey, a win was a win, right? He could drink to that.

* * *

Later that night, Jo slapped Henry lightly on his bare chest. "You really shouldn't tease Lucas so much," she scolded.

"On the contrary, Detective, you should congratulate me on my self-restraint. It took every bit of control I possessed not to ask whether he was speaking of erogenous zones."

"Oh?" drawled Jo, running her hands down his sides. "Need a little advice on that?"

"My dear Detective, I am a medical professional and _thoroughly_ educated in the matter of–"

"Zoning laws?" she gasped as he nipped her ear.

"Precisely." Henry's grin was predatory.

Jo's return smile had more than a passing resemblance to the cat that caught the canary. "C'mere, tiger."


End file.
